


Home is a Person

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M, Pre-Slash, Series: Awakenings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 01:44:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/792580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair's thoughts following "Equilibrium".<br/>This story is a sequel to Miracles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home is a Person

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Not beta'd.

## Home is a Person

by CatMoran

Author's webpage: <http://home.netcom.com/~catmoran/warning.html>

Author's disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. I don't own the canon characters or concept; I do own this story.

Rating: PG-13 (discussion of violence) 

Feedback: sure. 

Archive: Personal archives - yes. Anywhere else - probably, but please ask first. Leave my headers intact. 

* * *

Home is a Person  
By CatMoran : catmoran@ix.netcom.com or moranc@ix.netcom.com 

I wake up, and Jim's still next to my bed. Of course, he's asleep now. No wonder--it's been a _long_ day, and from the sound of things out in the ward, it's probably the middle of the night. I dozed a bit... but after three weeks of near-sleep, who can sleep a full night? 

When I woke up earlier, Jim smiled like he'd just gotten the greatest present ever. 

I wonder about that. 

I mean, shouldn't he be pissed? I think I'd be pissed if a friend shot me. That's the last thing I remember clearly, the gun going off in my hand and Jim going down at my feet. Sure, I didn't mean to... I'd never hurt him on purpose. 

... 

But that's not really true, is it? I was about to kill myself... I know he doesn't really need me anymore, but still, I'm sure it would have hurt him. I was just too intent on _escaping_ to think of that, earlier. I'm glad he stopped me before I got the chance to hurt him, that way. 

It's strange. I remember it all like it was yesterday. To me it practically _was_ yesterday, I only have vague impressions of the last three weeks. But I don't feel the same... desperation. fear. panic. despair... that I felt before. If it was yesterday, shouldn't I feel the same? Not that I mind. It's just... strange. 

I guess my job at the PD is over. They won't let me carry a gun again. And there's no way I can come up with a reason to ride along, without the diss as an excuse. I wonder... maybe it's time for me to move on. 

... 

Come on. Slow, steady, deep breaths. This isn't the time for a panic attack, not if I want to get out of here before I collect social security. 

Where did that come from? As if I didn't know--I don't want to leave home. I don't mean the loft, that's just a place. A nice place, but that's not _it_. It's Jim. Even this sterile hospital room is home, with him here. I wish I could tell him that, but I'm afraid I might say too much. If I've got a hope of keeping my home, I've got to be careful. 

That's experience talking, of course. He's already kicked me out once. Nearly got me killed, too. Maybe I do belong here, if I still want to be around him after that... but I understand why he did it. And I know he was sorry for it, as hard as he tried to hide it. After all, he came after me, brought me back. That counts for something... right? 

He didn't really say, but I got the impression that something like that happened again. That he came after me again, and that's why I'm awake now. Well, it's not why I'm awake at 3am; but it's why I can _be_ awake, aware, at whatever hour. 

... 

I guess... he must really want me around. Could he? He's brought me back, twice. The first time could have been guilt, but this time was all my fault. Why would he bring me back, if he didn't want me back? Well, that could just be an instinct to protect. But... he's here, when he could be at home, in bed. That's got to be more comfortable, no matter how much padding is on that chair. At least it's got a high back, maybe he won't wake up with a sore neck. 

I wonder if he knows his hand is on my arm? Maybe he moved it in his sleep. Jim hasn't touched me much in a while. He still buddy-slaps me, and his arm is always blocking me whenever we go around a corner in the truck; but the casual arm around the shoulders is long gone. 

A couple months ago, a guy we were bringing down got me in the side of the head with his foot. After we got him cuffed Jim checked me over, just like he always has. When he knew I was OK, he almost flinched back. 

I thought he was mad at me, that's why he didn't want to touch me. I mean, I wouldn't expect it from most guys, but Jim's always been a touchy kind of guy. In every sense of the word... 

The warmth, the contact of his hand is comforting. Maybe a little more sleep wouldn't hurt... 

Fin  
(c) CatMoran 2000 


End file.
